Page 14 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

EVERLY

The hospital room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that lets your thoughts grow teeth.

Morning light filters in through the blinds, thin stripes stretching across the white tile floor like prison bars. I’m propped up in bed, blanket pulled to my waist, but I haven’t moved in what feels like hours. Haven’t slept at all.

The monitor beside me beeps every now and then, just enough to remind me I’m still here. Still breathing. Still pregnant.

My hand rests on my stomach, flat and soft and still somehow…foreign.

A baby. Nine weeks.

Isaia’s baby. God.

A sound breaks in my throat, and I press my palm tighter against my belly, like maybe that’ll quiet the storm inside me. But it doesn’t. It only stirs it. I miss him. God, I miss him so much it hurts. Every second, I try not to. Every second, I fail.

I wish it had been him in this room last night.

Hearing that heartbeat for the first time and knowing what it meant.

It should’ve been Isaia. The father of my baby.

Not Anthony. But I can’t deny what it meant to have someone with me when fear ran rampant, even if it wasn’t the person my heart wanted it to be.

There’s a pang of regret as I touch my lips.

I should have handled it differently, should have tried a softer approach, maybe.

I don’t know. All I know is Anthony’s kiss felt wrong, like biting into an apple only to taste vinegar.

He’s my best friend in the world, and our friendship is right in so many ways.

But romance? Kissing? It’s this unfamiliar sway in my heart that makes me feel I’ve betrayed something. Someone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the pressure building behind my rib cage like my body’s trying to fold in on itself. Just for a moment, I want to forget about Isaia’s lies. I want to miss him, yearn for him, break for him without feeling foolish.

I can still hear the doctor’s voice from last night, steady and clinical. “The baby’s fine.” But that’s not what stuck. It’s what Anthony said afterward. The look on his face. The way he stared at my stomach was like it had become the last nail in my coffin, like a curse disguised as a miracle.

‘You have no idea what this means. The Del Rossa family keeps their own. Their blood. Their women. Their children.’

‘It’s not about doing the right thing. For them, it’s all about control.’

Anthony’s not wrong. But I don’t think he’s right either. I know the Del Rossa family is powerful, and once you belong to them, it’s not a choice. It’s a vow etched into bone. A loyalty that doesn’t waver, no matter the cost.

And Isaia? He doesn’t love like other people do.

There are no rules in the way he loves. No borders.

No right or wrong. Just… him. Raw. Absolute.

Consuming. He doesn’t think in lines or limits—he just feels, and when he does, it becomes law.

It becomes truth. And if he finds out I’m pregnant, it won’t matter what I say or what I want.

It’ll be about how he loves me…us. There won’t be borders or boundaries to what we’ll become for him.

Being loved by a Del Rossa brother is a cage. One lined with roses and blood.

He won’t let me go. He won’t let us go. Not to punish. Not to control. But because in his world, love is reason enough for him to start wars and burn cities to the ground.

And he’ll lie. Again. Because to him, truth is irrelevant when love is on the line. And he does love me. I know it. I feel it in my bones, in the spaces he’s carved into my soul. That, I don’t doubt. Not for a second.

‘Why is the father of your baby not here? He hasn’t even fucking called. Not once.’

Why hasn’t he called? Why hasn’t he tried to contact me? I’m not stupid enough to think he doesn’t know where I am, who I’m with. Yet, he’s choosing distance. Why?

“Dear God, Everly,” I huff. My emotions are all swirling together in a giant, contradictory mess.

I want to see him. I want to feel and hold him.

But I don’t. I don’t want to speak to him and his lies.

I don’t want to look into his eyes and wonder if every word that comes out of his mouth is another deception.

That mouth. God, I want to kiss that mouth until every negative note in my soul turns into a seductive melody.

I want to hear his voice in my ear as his body pushes me over the edge.

I want our wedding night, out in the clearing under the pouring rain.

I want…him.

Before tears get the chance to blur my vision, I reach out, my fingers brushing over the glossy pages of a magazine left on the side table.

Images of carefree, smiling mothers holding babies in cherry blossom parks serve as a stark contrast to the reality closing in on me.

So I grab it and shove it into the drawer, slamming it shut.

My phone vibrates, and my gut tightens when I see it’s Anthony.

He’s my best friend. He’s always been my rock, the lifeboat that kept me from drowning.

But it’s different now. Love always changes things, and now I’m no longer sure if he’s capable of putting what’s best for me above his feelings for me.

Somehow, I’ve managed to get myself caught between two men.

One I love with all my heart but can’t trust. And another I trust my life with but can’t love. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I pick up the phone and answer. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

His blunt apology catches me off guard.

“I never should have kissed you. You were vulnerable, confused and scared. I picked the worst time to act like a jerk.”

My heart warms a little. “It’s okay. Last night was just…a mess.”

“Still. I should have known better.” I hear him sigh. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

I smile, winding a loose thread from the hospital sheet between my fingers until the tip turns purple. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Good. Because I’m on my way to pick you up.”

I frown. “It’s not even seven a.m. yet.”

“You’re being discharged. I’m on my way to pick you up.”

“You know, I should be confused about how you know that since the doctor hasn’t even been here to see me.” I settle back. “But I’m not.”

“The doctor says there hasn’t been any further bleeding. So there’s no need to keep you there.”

Something red and bitter stirs. “Seems like you had quite the conversation with my doctor.”

“I was worried.”

“So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.”

There’s a deafening silence on the other end, and I sit upright. “Is he on your payroll, or does he still think you’re the father?”

“Everly, you have got to relax.”

I swing my feet off the side of the bed, clutching the phone tight. “Sometimes I forget that you and Isaia are from the same world.”

“We are not the same.”

“Yeah, you are. If Isaia were here, he’d go to the doctor behind my back, too.”

“But he’s not there, is he?”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”

“What is your point, Everly?”

I take a moment, letting my thoughts melt into truth. “You act like Isaia’s the devil, trying to convince me that he’s wrong for me. But the truth is, you’re the same. He’s just a little less subtle than you are.”

There’s a long stretch of quiet that somehow feels like distance being created, a chasm widening between us.

Finally, he sighs, a scratchy, tired sound echoing through the phone. “I won’t apologize for caring about you. For loving you.”

I suck in a breath, a sharp ache stabbing into my heart, not because of what he said, but because of who it reminds me of.

I press my lips together, shutting my eyes as so many memories whirl to life.

“That’s exactly what he said, too.” As a tear rolls down my cheek, I hang up, allowing another drop to slide down my cheek before I wipe it away.

Sometimes I forget that Anthony and Isaia are from the same world.

The only difference is that the Paladino family’s influence is quiet and their control subtle, yet no less powerful.

Yet he warns me against the Del Rossas, against Isaia every chance he gets.

Reminding me that they smother you in love and call it protection.

But now I’m starting to wonder if he realizes he’s doing the same thing.

If he even sees how easily he’s stepped into the same mold.

Just with softer edges. A gentler tone. But beneath it, it’s still control.

Still another hand on the leash. Still another man deciding what’s best for me.

The silence settles in around me like a thick, choking fog, weaving itself through my thoughts and fears. I inhale deeply, my breath raspy against the sterile quiet, when my eyes drift to the window across the room.

Beyond the glass, perched on the railing just outside, is a bird. Pale gray. Small. Its beady black eyes peeking curiously into my hospital room.

For a second, I think it’s hurt. Wings tight to its sides. Chest barely moving. Like it’s unsure whether to stay or to run. I know that feeling—being frozen in a world that keeps pulling at you from every direction, unsure which voice to trust, which one is yours.

The bird tilts its head, sharp and curious, like it’s listening for something. Wind. Instinct. A beat loud enough to follow.

A moment passes, then it shifts. One step forward. Then another. Its body tense, unsure. And then…it flies.

One beat. Then another. Gone.

Not graceful. Not perfect. But free.

I want that kind of freedom. But wanting something and believing I can have it are two different things.

Because right now, my life is anything but mine.

Every step I’ve taken since the day Michele, the world’s worst stepdad, walked into it has been reaction, survival, consequence.

My choices have always been shaped by someone else’s will.

My mother’s silence.

Michele’s threats.

Anthony’s words.

Isaia’s fire.

I’ve been passed from one cage to another, always calling it something else—love, loyalty, family. But what if I’ve never really known what love is? What if love—real love—isn’t supposed to feel like chains? Or duty? Or fire and fear?

Maybe love isn’t just one thing. Perhaps it’s different for everyone. Control for some, chaos for others. Or protection for those who never had it before, and freedom for the ones who’ve only ever known chains.

I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that every second I’m away from Isaia, another piece gets chipped off my heart, and I’m afraid sometime soon there’ll be nothing left of it. Of me.

“You’re a mess,” I say to myself with a sigh. I’m here thinking about freedom while aching for a man who would give me none. Isaia’s love doesn’t come with doors. It comes with locks. With heat and danger and a promise so fierce it can swallow everything whole.

And Anthony? He loves me too, but his love isn’t free either. It’s just another kind of rope. Quieter. Cleaner. But binding all the same. He says he wants what’s best for me, but maybe he wants to be what’s best for me. And maybe I’ve let both of them write my story for too long.

So many fucking maybes.

The pressure in my chest starts as a dull ache but quickly sharpens, tightening until every breath feels like it’s catching on glass.

My pulse kicks up, panic bleeding through the edges, feeding the squeeze in my lungs.

I know what it means, what it is. I’ve felt it so many times before—the need for air.

I shove the drawer open, hands trembling as I fumble for the inhaler. The plastic is cool against my palm, and I press it to my lips, inhaling deeply, then again, as the medicine rushes cold down my throat.

Slowly, the vise loosens, air trickling back in, and I clutch the edge of the bed as I lean forward, head down as I force myself to take even breaths.

But even as my chest eases, the weight inside me doesn’t.

Fear, love, guilt—they don’t burn off with medicine.

They sit heavy, right where the air is supposed to be.

I can’t be alone. I don’t want to be alone. But I can’t face Anthony right now. And Isaia? That’s a storm I don’t know how to step into.

Which means there’s only one place left for me to go.